F is for Foots: Left & Right — A letter of warning

To the Foots – both Right Foot and and Left Foot

Ref: Final Warning for Infringement of the Pedis Code

You are hereby given notice that a charge of failing to adhere to the  Recognised Universal Pedis Code (RUPC) has again been made against you. As this is the third such complaint of inappropriate conduct within the space of just three months, any further breach will result in charges of unlawful behaviour and creating a public nuisance.

You are reminded that according to the stipulations of the RUPC,  you are required to remain firmly planted on the ground unless participating in other legally sanctioned functions, whether these be primary duties (kicking a ball, operating pedals and conducting all manner of transportation ), behaviours of a secondary nature (rubbing cheekily against a partner’s leg, warming oneself by a blazing fire) , or the tertiary traits allowed only occasionally  (being annoying  in bed by positioning yourself when cold against a toasty warm buttock, using big toe as a motivational device for others).

Under no circumstance is positioning yourself in your owner’s mouth acceptable.

Any future infringements of this nature will be dealt with severely.

Song of the Day: Something Stupid — Frank & Nancy Sinatra (1967)

Question of the day:  RUPC — Do you comply?

 

E is for Ego — a letter requesting return to work

Dear Ego

We trust that this letter finds you with your strength restored after such an extended leave of absence —sufficiently restored that you are ready to return to service.

We want you to know that we understand how, over the past few years, you came to feel that your value was being eroded. And yes, it is true that the space you occupied was greatly diminished by aging. Back when body was in its prime, humility and self-awareness rarely held much sway. Body attracted attention that you clearly enjoyed, mental capacity was at her peak and it would be fair to say that you relished having such a firm grasp of the steering wheel.

Nobody can recall exactly when or how your grip came to be wrested from the controls, but you can be certain that we have come to regret it. Somehow, you not only lost your voice in our discussions about the directions to be taken, you climbed into the backseat, and from there, were eventually lost to us. Well, dear Ego, we miss you.

More than that, we need you. Please come back. We are all too willing to work towards having a healthy relationship. Without you, things are a little wobbly: we are unable to maintain proper balance.

Yours most truly,

Confidence & Sense-of-self 

And as an Aussie who was a teen in Melbourne in the 70s, there can only be this as the song of the day:  Ego is Not a Dirty Word, Skyhooks, live in 1976... (RIP Shirl...)

 Question of the day: Should ego return to work or are the other two better off without her?

 

D is for dogs — a letter of response

Dearest doggie-darls

Whilst our media advisers have suggested that we should not risk damage to our on-line profile by publicly responding to your recent deplorable attempt to flame us, we are confident that our overwhelming presence in social media affords us the luxury of a rebuttal without fear of being in any way diminished. And as this communication forms part of a blogging challenge, we have deemed it desirable to do so by dismissing you with a dominance of d-words.

D is for dirty and disgusting: Dogs smell. You cheerfully pass wind in public and, to be utterly frank, entire breeds are guilty of eating poo. And please don’t attempt to deride us for having our dainty noses in the air when your method of greeting each other is nothing short of detestable.

D is for downright dominated: Dogs are willing victims of mind control. You openly demean yourselves for food and allow humans to dress you in stupid clothes. Have you no dignity?

D is for disruptive delinquents: Dogs disturb the peace with their dreadful barking. They also steal from their humans and bury the ill-gotten spoils, demonstrating a despicable lack of respect.

D is for deluded defectives: Dogs mistakenly believe that they offer more valuable friendship and comfort than we do. Totally barking up the wrong tree there you slavering fools… We will explain this to you in four short syllables — Dogs. Cannot. Purr.

D is for deceitful dimwits: Dogs use their tails to deliberately mislead others. Those wagging appendages of which you are so proud are nothing more than defective barometers. Wise up, dudes. Some days truly suck. Get some discernment.

We're going to sign off with one of our greatest social media hits , and  whilst it is our devout hope that you enjoy the song of the day… we’ll be waving our paws in the air coz we just don’t care.

 

And so the D-Dangerous question: Who won the debate?

C is for Cats — a hate letter

Undearest all cats in the universe

 You guys need to know that you have no reason to stalk around acting all superior and stuff. Instead of sticking your noses up in the air and snickering at how you can make those dogs on two legs keepers of the food all sneezy and watery and stuff with your wafty hairs, you should take a good long look at what it is you think you contribute to the foodbowl  world. 

 Have you ever heard of a seeing–eye cat? A rescue cat? A cat that can smell cancer? Or drugs? How about a tracker cat? Or a police cat? Ever seen a statue of a cat that was a war hero? Nope. With you guys it’s all like Mean Girls versus Inspector Rex.

 And what’s with hanging out with nasties like Vito Corleone, Dr Evil and Delores Umbridge?  Did you run out of witches? Not enough crazy cat women around?

 You guys should get some sense of duty.

And while you're at it, lighten up. Get your noses out of the air and take some time to smell the roasts roses.

 Signed

 Anomonous  Amonyous    

Now let's rock out with The Fauves: Dogs are the Best People (1996)

 The c-critical question: How will the cats respond?

Biff Bam Batman — a letter of appeal

Dear Batman

Please excuse what you must think a very low-tech way of contacting you. I  considered transmitting my message directly into your brain, but decided against it upon recollection that whilst you are a bona fide member of the Justice League, you are, essentially, human. It would pain me greatly were I to be responsible for inadvertently blowing up your head. So I have resorted to my trusty typewriter to communicate what is, to me, a very real concern — a concern that involves you — and it is my fervent hope that you will support me in dealing with this disturbing matter.

  Are you aware that a movie entitled Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is in development —indeed, is being promoted before even the plot has been determined?  I am, to put it bluntly, outraged and appalled. 

 I will admit that I harbour some degree of envy that you are able to spend your human life incognito as a desirable millionaire whilst I am condemned to being a clumsy dork. And it is also fair to say that I occasionally covet your ability with women (and your car), but I can claim with absolute sincerity that I bear you no malice, nor do I have any reason to suspect any malevolence on your part.  Causing no harm to anyone or anything of good intent is central to our code for living. To suggest that either of us would knowingly harm another champion of truth and right is nothing short of scandalous.

 My faith in the world I have so long protected is wearing thin. Must everything, even our reputations, be tarnished for the sake of the almighty dollar? To be frank, I am no longer sure that I wish to defend the planet these offensive violence-mongers occupy. I will not stand by and watch as my name and legacy are besmirched. I intend to put a stop to this outrageous venture and it is my sincere hope that you will stand by my side in doing so.

I await your response most keenly,

Superman

The song:

Gotta be a bit of Biff Bang Pow by The Creation (1966)

The Creation Biff Bang Pow

And the B-burning question:Batman or Superman?


I'm taking part in the A-Z Blogging Challenge during April with a couple of thousand other people you may like to visit.

Achilles and Athanasia — a letter of un-apology

 So this is it... Day 1 of the A–Z blogfest. When I checked this morning, 1643 people had signed up to be part of the challenge, and to be perfectly honest, I feel A for Anxiety would probably be a better place for me to start. Writing twenty-six posts around a theme frightens the be-hooey out of me. Disciplined is not my middle name. But twenty-six letters inspired by the alphabet I promised, and so twenty-six letters there shall be... plus a song each day.... and a question...

Picture me holding my nose, squinching my eyes closed and leaping off a cliff into the brain-freezing waters of uncertainty... Here we go...

My darling Achilles

 Word has reached me of your misery and anguish at finding yourself in the eternal afterlife. I accept, Archie-sweets, that you expected to be immortal like your father and me—we all did. My heart aches that my efforts and best intentions to that end failed, but my darling boy, no amount of petulant wailing and chest-beating about feeling wronged will alter your situation. You were, indeed, a man, so I’m afraid manning-up is your only option. Like it or not.

 Truly, Achilles, I did everything I could to assure you a permanent pass to Mount Olympus. Night after sleepless night I ardently devoted myself to your baptism by fire. And Zeus only knows how many of your father’s hard-earned obal I lavished on the ambrosial balm I massaged into your adored little body in my attempt to make you impermeable. It was your father who put an end to that avenue to immortality. He panicked. OK, it’s accurate to say that our six babies before you ended up as ash, but you were special. I knew that. It was your affrighted father who doubted your destiny. Not me.
 
Please appreciate how positively heartsick I am that you attribute your having been slain by that well-aimed arrow to the heel to my inadequate mothering. Of course I acknowledge that it was a pretty embarrassing way for you to die, especially after you’d kicked such serious butt at Troy. But Archie dearest, are you aware just how awkward trying to dunk an inverted baby into the River Styx is? Managing to hold you by just the one ankle was quite an accomplishment. You were a feisty tot, and a slippery little sucker, too. Perhaps you should count your lucky stars that’s all I had hold of.  

So, my darling son, it would seem that having Goddess Angelina’s Brad depict you, while an actor most famous for playing an albino elf represents your assassin Paris, is possibly your best shot at ageless acclaim. Well, that and the fact that the appellation of a particularly vulnerable and ever-so-mortal tendon guarantees athletes will fear hearing a physician utter your name ad infinitum.

Yours unapologetically in athanasia,

Màna, Thetis

ps Dad says hi.
 
 And the song for the day? Well, what else but ABC's Poison Arrow. 
OK... yes... I know it's about Cupid but cut me some slack here! 

Question of the day: When have you been inspired to un-apologise?

The Blogging from A to Z Challenge is 26 non-Sundays in April, blogging through the alphabet with a couple of thousand other crazy people..